


Don't you forget about me.

by rosmarine



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, mostly angst, yup thats how its going to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosmarine/pseuds/rosmarine
Summary: “Come on,” said Michael, “lets keep going through old photos to see if it’ll jog your memory. I got your friends to send me some pictures of the two of us together.” The next picture was one he hadn’t seen before. For a second, he wracked his brain trying to place it.“Michael?” asked Jeremy, “Why are we kissing?”In one last act of self-preservation squip makes Jeremy forget Michael. It gets worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justwannabeafangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwannabeafangirl/gifts).



> As always, I have a loose sense of what’s canonically happening in the play because I’ve only listened to the soundtrack. And you heard it here first, folks, Will Roland is my Jeremy Heere. Huge thanks to [justwannabeafangirl](http://justwannabeafangirl.tumblr.com), who is the becky albertalli to my adam silvera. next chapter will probably go up on or after sunday, in celebration of me finally seeing the show.

“I’m sorry,” said Jeremy, “but this means nothing to me.” They were in Jeremy’s bedroom instead of Michael’s basement, and it felt like neutral territory. Jeremy gazed down at the Michael’s phone, the brightness turned all the way up, featuring a picture of them standing next to a cutout T-Rex. Michael had his fists up like he was about to throw punches, and Jeremy was grabbing his shoulders, crouching behind him. Mr. Heere had taken the photo the summer beforehand at an amusement park.

“Don’t apologize,” said Michael, for the millionth time. Even though his heart beat cold water through his veins, he scoffed brightly. “It’s not your fault some computer virus went anime super villain and made you try to take over the world.” Joking about it made it seem less real, the fact that Jeremy didn’t recognize him. 

Michael wasn’t in Jeremy’s room often. Heck, he’d probably seen Jeremy’s beige-colored walls and Marvel movie posters more times in the week since the play than he had since middle school. When they hung out growing up, Michael and Jeremy always migrated to Michael’s house. Michael had a finished basement, an older sister to drive them around, and a lack of parents screaming at each other. Michael thought back to those days, and his memories were tinged a warm yellow. Jeremy thought back to those days, and he was empty. 

“The squip,” said Jeremy, “no,  _ I _ ––managed to throw a twelve year relationship down the drain all because I wanted to kiss some girl I barely knew.” His chest heaved and his fingers clutched around the fabric of his comforter. 

Michael stood, walked in front of Jeremy and crouched until they were eye level. “Hey,” he said, “I’m the one who didn’t back down. I went up against the squip, and he made you forget who I was so that you wouldn’t trust me. So it’s also my fault, kinda.”

Jeremy wiped his hands across his face and laughed. “That makes me feel a tiny bit better.”

Michael fist pumped the air. He sat back down on the bed next to Jeremy, careful to leave enough space between their two thighs. “Come on, lets keep going. I got your friends to send me some pictures of the two of us together.” Christine, Jenna, Jake, Chloe, Brooke and even Rich were sympathetic. Michael had created a photo album on his phone and was swiping through photos of them two of them.

“This one’s from when were were in boy scouts for like, a week,” said Michael, “before Sam Goldfinger stole your glasses and I punched him in the stomach.” Jeremy let out a strangled laugh Michael swiped to a picture of 14 year-old Jeremy with braces, an arm slung around Michael. They each wore aprons covered in flour, and Michael had a smudge of chocolate frosting on his chin. 

“This is when we made cupcakes for Angela’s grad party,” said Michael. “Oh, she’s my sister.”

“It’s weird,” said Jeremy, his brow furrowing. “I remember that party. There was a bonfire and Angela’s boyfriend almost burnt off his eyebrows. But I can’t figure out why I was there. Because we’re neighbors or family friends?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t live in your neighborhood, and our parents have met like twice. And Brian didn’t  _ almost _ burn off his eyebrows, he had to draw them on for the next month.” Michael swiped again, and the picture was one he hadn’t seen before. For a second, he wracked his brain trying to place it. Who had sent it? Most likely Jenna, from her signature bubblegum pink filter and heart emojis. Realization dawned on Michael, and his fingers clenched into the cotton of Jeremy’s bedspread.

“Michael? Why are we kissing?”

Michael let out a breath. His finger moved to the delete button, but Jeremy grabbed his hand. Michael looked up at Jeremy, and his eyes were like two clear swimming pools. 

“Were we...together?” Jeremy asked. 

“What?! No, Jeremy.” Michael flinched backwards, yanking his hands away. “It was a game of spin the bottle. At a party. You were drunk and I was high and––I guess someone caught it on camera.”

Michael suddenly wished he was in his basement with his headphones on, listening to Bowie and plugged into a single-player round of Legend of Zelda,  _ not _ thinking about that party. He wanted to drown it out with better memories and less heartache. But what if fixing Jeremy’s memory meant digging it all up?

Michael’s hands fidgeted, so he dropped them into his lap. “It was Halloween. You had the squip, and you were ignoring me. So I figured the best way to get you to actually  _ talk _ to me was to join whatever drinking game you were playing.” Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “It turned out to be spin the bottle. And then you spun and the bottle landed on me, and I thought, ‘this is it. He’ll call me a freak and I can go home and cry about it and forget him.’ But you––you leaned over to kiss me. Like you didn’t even  _ know _ who I was.” In the photo, Michael’s face was mostly blocked out by Jeremy’s hand so he couldn’t see the look of pure heartbreak. Michael had spent most of his life wanting to kiss Jeremy Heere, and Jeremy kissed him like he was a stranger.

“Can we kiss?” said Jeremy. Michael’s head shot up. Jeremy’s eyes were wide, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes shone like he was on the verge of tears.

“I mean,” said Jeremy, ”It’s something physical, so it might be better than just looking at pictures? God, that sounds stupid. Forget I said anything.”

Michael’s heart tried to hammer its way out of his chest. “You have a point,” he said, not sure if he believed himself. “And I’m sure kissing me wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Jeremy let out a strained laugh. Before he could think himself out of it, Michael shifted to face Jeremy, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned in. 

Jeremy’s lips were bitten and chapped. Warmth wrapped its way around Michael’s brain, but he fought it off like a wild wolf. He felt the tentative touch of a hand cradling his jaw, catching a whiff of Bath and Body Works hand soap Jeremy’s mom had left behind. Michael hadn’t kissed anyone before Jeremy besides, well, Jeremy, and it felt like pulling on a sweater fresh out of the dryer that fit him exactly right. 

Michael yanked his head back. His eyes flew open, and Jeremy gazed at him. Jeremy moved forward to close the distance between them, stopping halfway, and Michael kissed him again. And again. And again, until Michael scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Jeremy’s waist and Jeremy parted his lips, turning a civilized kiss into a filthy makeout-session. Michael’s sense of decency screamed at him  _ bad bad bad no no _ , but Michael  _ knew _ that the end of the world couldn’t keep him and Jeremy apart. In fact, it hadn’t. 

Jeremy was one folded knee away from straddling Michael when a rap on the closed door startled them. 

“Jeremy?” called Jeremy’s dad. “Is Michael staying for dinner?”

_ Ohgodohgodohgod _ , thought Michael, and his brain ran through a million excuses to use to get away, but Jeremy beat him to it.

“Yup!” Jeremy called, his voice jumping up an octave. 

“Great! We’re having spaghetti. Come down in fifteen.”

Michael’s chest heaved up and down as he heard Mr. Heere’s footsteps grow fainter. 

Michael glanced at Jeremy. His hair stuck up around his face, and his hand looked like it was about to tear out a tuft. 

“We shouldn’t––” said Michael.

“Not until I’ve––” said Jeremy. After twelve static years of friendship, Michael felt like their relationship was being tossed in a blender on high. 

“Friends?” said Jeremy, sticking out his hand awkwardly. 

“Friends,” said Michael, and he bumped it. 

\---

Michael’s knee bounced up and down to the rhythm of the background music. His throat was like a desert, but it was too risky to reach for the can of pepsi max at his elbow. One more hit and Jeremy’s Falco would be blown to bits. His fingers danced over the buttons of the controller, his thumb rubbing against the analog stick a mouse had chewed through years before. Michael punched in a down smash combo attack, held it,  _ held it _ , and --

The game paused. 

“Jere _ miah _ ! No time out’s, it’s against the rules!” Michael threw a half-hearted punch against the plastic of his beanbag chair, glaring at Jeremy. 

When Michael instinctively invited him over to play a round of Super Smash Bros like he has every Friday night since Michael got a second hand gamecube for his tenth birthday, Jeremy had turned a violent red and stuttered out, “y-yeah. It’d be nice to play Smash without any strangers yelling at me online.”

“Sorry,” said Jeremy, his gaze planted firmly in his lap. 

“Come on, Jeremy, can’t handle getting your butt kicked?” Michael teased until he noticed Jeremy tugging at the hem of his sleeves. “Sorry. Seriously, Jeremy, what’s up?”

“Nothing!” said Jeremy. “I, mean, it’s nice when you joke around with me. It makes me feel––normal, I guess. Like you’re comfortable enough to make lame jokes. Crap, I don’t mean lame! They’re just weird. But I love them! They’re really funny. But, I, uhm––” Michael had heard enough of Jeremy’s nervous ramblings to follow along over the years, but he almost knocked his pepsi all over his shag carpeting when Jeremy blurted out, “can we make out again?”

Michael took off his glasses, wiping them on the hem of his t-shirt. His entire body screamed at him  _ say yes say yes say yes. _

“Why?” asked Michael, pushing his frames up onto the bridge of his nose. “Did it help you remember me?”

“No,” Jeremy admitted, “I just liked it. A lot.”

Michael leaned forward, crossing his legs and eyeing Jeremy. “You’re vulnerable right now. You never had the hots for me before. I can’t shake the feeling I’m doing something a little messed up.”

“What? Michael, no. It’s not like I’m-–– _ helpless. _ I’m still a normal guy, I’m just having a little memory problem.”

Michael twirled the controller around in his fingers, studying the Gamecube symbol. He was about to vocalize his greatest fear, and he needed something to do with his hands. “Could the squip have programmed you to like me?”

Jeremy scratched at his temple. “I don’t think so. He wanted me to forget you so that I could have babies with Christine. I don’t see how me being attracted to you would benefit his grand scheme.”

A grin spread across Michael’s face and he scooted close to Jeremy.

“So,” he said, “you think I’m hot.”

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said in a soft voice, “I do.” Michael grasped at a million different ways to say,  _ well I think you’re hot too _ .

“Around you,” said Jeremy, his eyes downcast “I can just be me.”

“Then consider me lucky,” said Michael, lifting Jeremy’s chin, “because you’re pretty freaking cool.” He held his breath, his eyes closing as Jeremy leaned in again. 

Michael felt like he was trying to open Schrodingers box. At that moment, he was kissing Jeremy Heere. But he was  _ a _ Jeremy Heere, not  _ Michael’s  _ Jeremy Heere, if it even worked like that. But whatever way he spun it in his head, they were Michael and Jeremy, two teenagers clutching each other in the dark with the dim light of a box set tv casting an eerie glow upon their faces. 

Michael and Jeremy had been  _ MichaelandJeremy _ since they were seven years old. Michael had grown up loving Jeremy as much as he could. His love for Jeremy was soft and tender, warm and comforting. Jeremy was his favorite person. If Jeremy started dating Christine, Michael would be over the moon. But if Jeremy decided he wanted to date Michael, well, Michael would be over the goddamn sun. 

“Michael? Jeremy? Are you two hiding in your cave?”

Michael scrambled backwards, his foot twisting awkwardly underneath him. He glimpsed Jeremy scrubbing a hand across his mouth as heavy footsteps thudded down the basement steps. 

“Angie!” Michael cried. His sister looped her arms around his neck and he desperately wondered if she would take one look at him and be able to tell that he and Jeremy had been sucking face. 

Michael leapt to his feet, hugging her properly. Even though she was three years older and Michael had spent most of his life literally looking up to him, after his sophomore-year shoot-up Angie only reached his chin.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you weren’t coming home until Thanksgiving,”

Even though Rutgers was a twenty minute drive from their town, Angie rarely visited. She made up for it by calling home every other day and sending pictures of her and her friends to the family group chat, usually against the dim glow of string lights in a basement show.

“Yeah, well, Mom called and said there was some stuff going on. Now come on, losers, come help me get my crap out of my car.”

“Hey, Angela,.” Michael had always heard that he and Angie were similar, but their simultaneous head-whips towards the sound of Jeremy’s voice were identical. 

Angie walked over, her arms crossed over her chest. To Michael, she’d always been his infinitely cool older sister. She dressed cooler, in ripped jeans and their dad’s old leather jacket. She had more friends, inviting Michael and Jeremy along to all of the PG-13 movies. And she was better at handling difficult situations. 

“Jeremy!” she said. “Can I hug you?” Jeremy nodded, and Angie opened her arms.

Jealousy surged hot through Michael’s veins, which didn’t make any  _ sense _ . Not when he could feel the hickeys starting to blossom under his collar, when Jeremy had just told him exactly how attractive he was, when he had Jeremy all to himself for hours and days at a time. 

The three of them crept up the stairs, Angie chattering about her crappy roommates. Jeremy’s silence was a void no one wanted to venture into. 

After spending a few hours in the heated basement, the cold November air slapped Michael across the face. Angie’s hatchback was parked out front. Like Michael’s P. T. Cruiser, Angie’s car had been a hand-me-down from their grandparents her senior year of high school. Beneath the streetlights, it looked like it could've been the cover of a 50’s comic book. 

“Okay, I may have lied,” said Angie. “I didn’t bring home that much. But I’ve got a surprise for you!” Angie pushed open the trunk of her car and stepped aside. Michael’s face burst into a grin.

“No way!” he cried. “You got it fixed?” Nestled between a baby blue duffle bag and two pillows sat a belt-driven record player, its clear lid firmly shut. 

Angie nodded. “A friend of a friend gave it a new needle and fixed it up. It helps when everyone you know is a hipster nerd.”

“Yes! I’m dusting off Bowie. Ziggy Stardust just isn’t the same on a pair of headphones. Jeremy, we’re having a jam sesh.”

Michael spun around and his heart plummeted. Jeremy was shivering, twitching, his eyebrows knit together tightly. 

Jeremy wrapped his arms around his waist, taking a step backward, into the shadows. 

“I bought it for you, didn’t I?” Jeremy asked. 

“Yeah. For my sixteenth birthday.”

“I can remember seeing it at my grandma’s and thinking––something. It had to have been important for her to just give it to me, right?” Jeremy stuck his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. “I remember late night 7-11 runs with Angela and playing Guitar Hero in your basement, so why can’t I just––put in the missing piece?”

Jeremy’s voice trembled. Michael stepped toward him, his sneakers squelching against the wet grass. 

“No!” Jeremy started at the sound of his own voice. “I’m sorry. Angie, could you...drive me home?”

Angie nodded. Her expression was guarded, which Michael had only seen before at funerals and bad news. He could recognize when her heart was breaking. 

“Do you need anything from inside the house?” she asked. Jeremy shook his head, climbing into the passenger seat. 

Of all the times Angie had driven Jeremy home, Michael had hung onto his headrest from the backseat. 

Angie looked at him, biting her lip. 

“Go inside, baby,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

Michael’s face burnt as he turned away, ignoring the sound of an engine starting and the smell of exhaust as he walked up his driveway alone on a Friday night. 

\---

A flashing light and a swarm of bees startled Michael awake. No, it was his phone, vibrating on his nightstand. Michael swiped for his glasses, putting them on and staring at the screen. 

Two things registered in Michael’s sleep-muddled mind. First, it was three in the morning, and second, he had two missed calls from Jeremy Heere. The phone started buzzing in his hand again, and Michael swiped to unlock. 

“Jeremy?” he says, his voice thick. Michael sat up, the covers pooling around his hips. His hand hovered over the switch for his bedside lamp, not quite ready to leave the realm between dream and waking life. “Is everything okay?”

On the other end of the line, Jeremy was silent. “Jeez,” he said after a beat, “I didn’t really have a plan for if you actually picked up.” Michael heard a sniffle and labored breathing.

“It’s okay,” Michael said. “Whatever’s going on inside your head, it’s okay.” If the sound of Michael’s AC unit had been any louder, it would’ve drowned out Jeremy’s soft sobs.

“I just––I miss you, Michael. So freaking much. I can tell that you’re my best friend and that we mean everything to each other. I want it back so badly. I just––I shot myself down, and I took you with me.”

At three a.m., Michael’s room looked different. The edges of it became blurry, and he could only just make out the shape of his dresser and the mess inside his closet. 

“Shh,” said Michael. “It’s okay. We have time. We’ll fix it.” Michael didn’t really know which promise he was making––the promise to get Jeremy’s memory back, or the promise to rebuild their friendship regardless, or just the general promise that they weren’t dying and the future hadn’t crashed to a halt. 

He stayed on the phone until Jeremy’s sobs turned into snores.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in light of me FINALLY seeing the amazing and beautiful matinee of BMC with the light of my life justwannabeafangirl, here is the conclusion. ((basically i finally know what's going on during upgrade and why michael is in the bathroom at a party)). also, come listen to my michael mell playlist on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/abruptsushi/playlist/3a7jPY8wLGaoZ7ecK7yAPs?si=ZPa6eQK6Rju39iHV_nwF-w) becauase i'm that kind of dork.

(The thing was, they didn’t.)

Jeremy and Michael stuck together at school, finding each other between classes and sharing fries at lunch. Once again, they shareda life. They watched  _ Mystery Science Theater  _ on the weekends and partnered up for every spanish project. And, well, they kissed. A lot. Never in public, but they’d kiss as much as they could. 

Michael really liked it, but he’d lie awake in bed some nights, the same thoughts circling his brain until he’d chewed his lips raw. He loved Jeremy, undoubtedly. They were best friends. But Jeremy got weekly  _ checkups _ at a health clinic for god’s sake. Michael was supposed to be helping him recover, not getting him all mixed up again. Yeah, he wasn’t Jeremy’s caregiver. But he felt like he was in a position of power, and that would never be all right with him. 

That Thursday, Jeremy’s bio lab cut into their shared lunch. Michael usually spent those days in his P. T. Cruiser, rushing to 7-11 and back before the period ended. But that day, he put his packed lunch on the table and nestled in between Rich and Chloe. God, without Jeremy crammed in next to him, Michael felt like he was taking up too much space. 

He squashed the thought, his heart shuddering in his chest. 

Jenna wandered over, her eyes glued to her phone, and Brooke sank into the seat besides Chloe. Christine rounded the corner, her hands wrapped around the straps of her backpack.

“Who wants to help me run lines today?” she asked, her smile so wide it looked like it hurt.

“Me!” Michael said, a little too loudly. “I mean, uhm, I’ll bite the bullet. I’ve been told I make a mean Mercutio.”

“You know Mercutio dies, right?” Christine asked, but she tugged on the back of Michael’s bag, skipping in front of him to the auditorium. 

“The play’s not until spring,” Christine chattered as they passed rows of lockers, “but I really want to nail my role. Mr. Reyes told me we’d be doing  _ West Side Story _ , but he also told me not to tell anyone, and I’m aiming for Maria.”

Dang. Christine’s jabbering could give Jeremy a run for his money. 

“Really?” Michael said, his Nikes scuffing the carpet. “You’re doing another play? Even though the last one…” he trailed off. 

“Almost killed me? You bet!” Christine spun around, almost walking backwards into a freshman. “Isn’t it romantic, Michael? The love of my life almost killed me! And by that I mean theater, of course, not Jeremy.” Christine burst open through the doors to the auditorium. Michael followed, wincing as they clanged shut behind him. 

Michael inhaled sharply, his gut twisting. Should he let Christine run her lines first? Would she even  _ want _ to run lines with him if she knew what he was trying to tell her? Would he cheat her out of a good performance by  _ not _ telling her?

“What’s on your mind, Michael?” Christine was perched on the edge of the stage, papers strewn around her like a ring of flowers, and she patted the empty space next to her. 

Michael plopped down. “Am I that obvious?” he asked. 

Christine crossed her legs, the fabric of her dress swooshing against her leggings. “I’m an actor. I can recognize when someone’s pretending. Besides, you never volunteer to read scripts with me.”

Michael deflated, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d rehearsed the conversation in his head on the drive to school, but words deserted him. Well, maybe he’d distracted himself by jamming out to Wheezer.

“It’s about Jeremy, isn’t it?” Christine asked. 

Michael nodded. Christine scooted closer, pushing his bag to the side. Michael caught a whiff of citrus and pine. 

“Come on, Michael, tell me your worries.”

“Jeremy and I––he and I––we have this thing going. We’ve started making out in my basement.” The words came out a lot faster than he meant them to. “Like a lot. But neither of us want to be a couple just yet, and I feel like I’m taking advantage of him. Nothing about this relationship is normal, and we were borderline unhealthy before, and I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.” Michael felt a hand on his shoulder, and he realized he was swaying. He looked into Christine’s watery eyes, and she smiled.

“Michael,” she said, “I think it’s a good sign that you’re recognizing this might not be okay. Now, I’m not expert, but I want you to consider something: what do you want?”

Michael blinked. “That’s way too vague, Chris.”

“Fine. What do you want right now?”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “Well, I want Jeremy and I to be normal again.”

Above them, Michael heard the cooling system kick on and felt a rush of cold air. Christine grabbed for the rustling papers. 

“I think you need some time,” she said. “I know we’re in high school and it constantly feels like we’re running out of time, but maybe you two should take a month to get your groove back before deciding whether or not a relationship is something you’d want to pursue? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but neither of you really seem like the fuck-buddy type.”

“I guess it’ll just take some time to figure out––whatever normal between us could ever be. At least I’ll be able to sit next to Mr. Heere at the dinner table without cringing.”

Christine reached above her, stretching back and leaning onto the stage on her elbows. “We’re just kids, Michael. We all do stupid stuff. Heck,  _ I  _ was almost ready to let a computer take over the world because I want to be on Broadway. And you wouldn’t want Jeremy to be swimming in guilt over the squip thing, right? Not everything is going to be okay, it just  _ can’t _ be, but you can control some of it.”

Michael turned towards her, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re right, Christine.”

“Thank you. I’m very talented at giving dramatic and inspiring speeches.” Her face scrunched up in a grin. “I kinda have to be.”

Michael picked up a script sitting between them. “Now, want me to be Anita?” For the first time since he’d driven home from the mall one passenger lighter, Michael’s chest felt light.

\---

_ Score _ . Michael crouched, shifting through generations of Pokemon games. The discount bin at GameStop was an absolute godsend. Above him, he heard the sounds of Jeremy sucking at the straw of his mall bubble tea. Michael yanked out an unpackaged copy of Animal Crossing. He turned it over, eyeing the barcode on the back stamped $8.99.

“Michael,” said Jeremy, “Could you reach that Zelda game for me?”

Michael rose, his legs creaking as he stretched them. “ _ Link Between Worlds?  _ The hell do you want with that?” He stretched his arm above Jeremy, feeling his shirt ride up. But they were in the last row, shielded by a shelf, so he didn’t care. He turned it over, examining the back. 

“The graphics are cheap and the plotline’s second-rate,” said Michael.

“You’re right,” said Jeremy, “I don’t really want it.” He pressed against Michael, kissing him. Plastic covers pushed into Michael’s back as he jerked away. Jeremy tasted like sweet mango and the food-court orange chicken they’d both picked at for lunch. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Michael hissed, his voice low. “I thought we––we weren’t––”

“Relax,” said Jeremy, “the guy at the front desk is playing Mario Kart and no one’s here. Unless you’re worried about being seen by the security camera.”

“Jer, Jeremy,” said Michael, his heart pounding. Jeremy pressed his lips against Michael’s cheek, then the corner of his lips. 

Michael could understand the quick pecks. The closed-mouth kisses. Because those were comforting and pleasant. But the way that Jeremy ran a hand over Michael’s chest, moving to suck at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, nothing about that was how Michael had pictured his friendship with Jeremy would progress.

Michael glanced over at the cashier, who was, in fact, completely disinterested. “I think we should put this thing on hold.” He tried to ignore the fact that it was completely out of character for Jeremy to be this confident––borderline pervy––in public.

The bell above the door rang, and Michael peeked his head out to see a woman in a floral cardigan and her ten-year-old son walk browsing by the front window. He turned back to Jeremy.

Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “Michael, why? You don’t––like me?”

Michael grabbed Jeremy’s hands. They were clammy with condensation from the drink. “No, Jeremy! The problem is…” Oh, god. Was Michael really going to get his heart broken in a video game store? In the 3DS section, titles A-L?

Michael swallowed. “We did everything in the wrong order, Jeremy. I just want to get our friendship back on track before we move on to anything else. So let's just hold tight and be best friends again?” Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think I should get Pokemon Pearl or Diamond?.”

Jeremy’s lips pursed. “I dunno. What’s the difference?”

“Jeremy. You cried for a week when your dad accidentally got your Pearl for your tenth birthday.”

Michael stood on his toes, putting Zelda back on its shelf. 

“Sorry,” said Jeremy, “I forgot.” Michael’s hand tightened around the game, his nails leaving indents in the plastic. It was time for them to leave.

\---

Michael lowered his headphones, the sounds of Bowie’s sweet lyrics leaking into the air.

“Sorry,” he said, “what was that?”

The woman smiled. The nametag pinned to the ruffles of her sweater read “Charlene.”

“I asked if you needed help finding anything,” she said. “You looked a little lost.”

The rows surrounding Michael felt like a fortress lined with yellowed hardcovers. Around him, he heard the soft rustling of pages being turned and the creaking wheels of shelving carts. It’d been awhile since he’d gone somewhere without Jeremy, who constantly occupied the space at his side.

Michael dug a piece of scrap paper out of his pocket, smoothing it against the leg of his jeans. 

“Yeah, actually,” he said. He offered the scrap to the librarian, his fingers smudging the printed ink. 

Charlene scanned the page. “That’ll be in the next aisle. Please, let me show you.”

Charlene re-folded the paper, and Michael followed her down the row of books and into the next one. Her pink nails danced along the edges of spines until she tilted one toward her, shimmying it out. She handed it to Michael.

Printed on the cover in unexciting font read the words,  _ How to Cope with Memory Loss. _

“This is perfect,” said Michael. “It’s exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

\---

For all the miles Michael put on his Cruiser chauffeuring Jeremy around town, he hated driving on highways. Although Michael didn’t have much experience driving in other states, he knew Jersey traffic was the absolute worst. But to get to the roller rink in South Amboy, there were no winding country backroads. 

The sun was fading, days shortening as they approached the darkest day of the year.

“So, like,” said Rich, slamming the passenger door as he followed out after Jeremy and Jake, “did anyone else not bring Brooke a gift?”

Jeremy patted his pockets. A glittery card stuck out from underneath his jacket. 

“I have a card if you want to sign your name,” Jeremy said.

The four boys made their way inside, purchasing tickets from a woman with cheetah print press-on nails. The roller rink was dimly lit, the only light emanating from the disco-ball hanging overhead and the flashes from the arcade games in the back. God, how were they going to find the girls?

“Do you see them?” Michael asked. Jake took off running.

Michael surveyed the room, following. He saw young kids wearing oversized jackets, old men wearing club t-shirts, and couples clutching at each other as they skated. 

Michael snuck a glance at Jeremy. They hadn’t talked much since the video game store, texting each other only about math homework. It was nice to see him outside of the prison that was their high school, and the fact that their friends were around took some of the pressure off. 

Michael knew that his sweatshirt would have to come off, it already felt hot around his collar. Jeremy had ditched his usual pullover for his threadbare NASA t-shirt, the sleeves cuffed just below his shoulder. For a moment, Michael let his mind wander. Was the look intentional? Had Jeremy spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror, trying to get the roll just right? To look good for him?  _ Or Brooke or Christine or Chloe or, hell, even Rich _ , Michael forced himself to think. 

“Michael! Thank god you’re here!” Brooke threw her arms around Michael. 

“Man,” he joked, “I haven’t heard those words since the play. Shit. Too soon?”

Chloe’s glare made his insides shrivel.

“Yeah,” said Brooke, “but we’ll forgive you. One one condition.” Chloe’s arm was slung around Brooke. Michael glanced around. The rest of the group must’ve headed off to rent skates. 

“Whatever it is, can I keep my pants on?” Michael asked. Chloe scoffed. 

Brooke stepped to the side. Behind her was a claw machine, the kind that Michael had begged his mom to give him dollar bills for on boardwalks and in bowling alleys. The sign on the top of the machine read  _ Toy Shop  _ in that terrible 80’s font, and a string of green neon lights lined the side. 

“Can you please please  _ please _ win me this stuffed fox? Christine said you played video games and this is basically the same.” Brooke pressed one hand to her chest, the other against the glass pane separating her and a bunch of scratchy stuffed toys. 

“Yeah,” said Michael, “it’s been a while since I used a joystick, but I’ll take a stab at it.”

Brooke broke into a grin. “Oh my god! If you win, it’ll be the best birthday ever!”

Chloe whipped around. “What? Brooke, I took you to that Eminem concert last year! You caught his sweaty t-shirt!”

“Okay,” Brooke amended, “it’ll be the  _ second _ best birthday ever.”

“One Eevee knockoff, coming right up,” he said. 

Michael felt loose, like whatever he wanted to say could slip right out. Jeremy’s friends were still shiny and new to him, but he was just starting to feel like he could be himself around them, the way he could be around Jeremy.

Michael cracked his knuckles and got to work.

\---

Michael ruefully watched as the claw machine ate his sixteenth dollar. He’d wanted to save a few bucks to split cheese fries with Jeremy, but Brooke was vibrating with excitement besides him. The claw swung back and force, the fox’s adorable little neck in its grasp, and it made its way to the drop zone. 

Brooke let out an ear-piercing shriek as the fox landed, pushing Michael aside to retrieve it.

“Michael,” she said, clutching it to her chest, “this means the world to me.”

Chloe punched his shoulder. “Looks like having a nerd around comes in handy sometimes,” she said. “Now, where’s your shadow?”

In the distance, he made out Jake’s tall silhouette, with his big muscles and flannel shirt tied around his waist, gliding with enough grace that Michael swore he could’ve been the best dancer in that damn play. Next to him was Rich, skating tight circles like a pro. And on his other side was Jeremy’s stout figure. 

Michael grabbed a pair of size eleven in-line skates, lacing them up and placing his high-tops into a locker. He clopped across the carpet, into the rink. A girl with two pink pigtails whizzed by, her momentum knocking him off balance. He righted himself. He looked in the direction of the rink employee in a referee shirt, a skilled skater who kept people moving.

Cat Power blasted through the speakers overhead. Michael really knew he shouldn’t be skating in the opposite flow of traffic, but Jeremy was halfway across the rink. Even though Michael spent every second Sunday of the month skating, catching up would take forever, and Michael was already a little self-conscious about being by himself. His cheeks were hot and he couldn’t keep words like  _ weirdo _ and  _ loser _ from flooding through his head. 

Michael kept to the outside, steering clear of the skaters whizzing by. He picked up speed. A pudgy skater in white shorts and cat-eye glasses reached her hand out, high-fiving Michael as he flew past. 

He caught sight of Jake, Jeremy, and Rich coming up fast, and––

“Move!” Jeremy shouted. A breath later, he slammed into Michael, both of them tumbling across the slippery hardwood floor. 

Michael let out a grunt, the skin of his knee twisting painfully. His nose was filled with the smell of rubber and floor wax. Jeremy’s elbow stuck into his stomach, and his glasses landed next to his outstretched hand.

“Shit man, what happened?” asked Jake, his hands on his knees as he peered down at them. Shadows reflected off his skin in waves, like a flashlight shining on a shattered mirror.

“Nothing,” said Jeremy, his voice biting. “I’m fine.” Rich stretched out a hand and Michael took it, getting back onto his feet.

“Are you guys okay?” The gift in pink pigtails stopped. The referee glided towards them from across the rink. 

“It was nothing,” said Jeremy, “I just stupidly lost my balance.” His voice was hoarse. Michael felt dozens of pairs of eyes staring into the back of his head, and he didn’t miss that Jeremy’s face reddened with embarrassment. He recognized the way Jeremy’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm. 

“Come on,” said Michael, his voice low, “you’re bleeding. Let’s get you off the rink.” He let go of Rich, helping Jeremy to his feet. He kept a hand around Jeremy’s waist, guiding him to the floor. He dropped Jeremy into a bench near the food court, returning with a bottle of water and a wad of napkins. 

The food court was vacated. Jeremy and Michael were only the spectacle of the bored food vendors. The music from the rink was muffled, like it was playing from another room at a house party. 

Michael swallowed, shoving down the memory of muffled Amy Winehouse and cold tile flooring as he twisted off the cap. He poured a trickle onto the wad of napkins, pressing it to the outside of Jeremy’s elbow. 

“What the hell were you doing, Michael? You messed me up!” 

Michael recoiled. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You skated into me! Why didn’t you stop yourself?” 

Jeremy’s sharp gaze morphed into a glazed look, and he stared at the vending machines on the far wall. 

“I don’t know,” he said, “It’s been years since I last skated, so I’m not too great at it.”

“That’s not true,” said Michael. “You go skating every year on your birthday and you’re a wiz. Well, I guess that’s with me, so it may be jumbled up. But your cousins took you last month! Do you remember that?”

Michael caught the stark aroma of copper. He glanced down––the napkin between his fingers was soaked through with blood. He tossed it into the garbage can next to him, pressing a fresh one to the wound.

“Jeez,” said Jeremy, “I hope Brooke didn’t see me stumble. She’d be so worried. Where is she anyways?”

Michael’s blood rushed loudly to his ears. He felt like he’d jumped into a frozen lake, or fallen through a patch of ice.

“She’s playing Pac-Man with Chloe,” said Michael. “Do you want me to buy you some cheese fries?”

Jeremy tossed Michael an expression he’d never seen before. 

“Michael,” he said, “I’m getting another squip.”

Michael dropped the bottle, water gushing all over the tabletop. He righted it, pressing down napkins to sop it up. 

“Dude,” said Michael, “that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. And you once told me eggplant was spicy.”

“I did? Michael, whatever the squip did to me, it’s getting worse. Haven’t you noticed?”

Michael paused. Suddenly, everything that had been floating around the edges of his consciousness came into sharp focus. Jeremy had started carrying around his agenda a lot more. He resting face had become a blank stare. And, well, Jeremy walked up to the wrong house last time Michael dropped him home. 

“So,” Michael said carefully, “you weren’t just messing around when you yelled at me for spoiling  _ The Little Mermaid _ ?”

Jeremy nodded. “I don’t know if I ever told you,” he said, “but my grandma had really bad dementia for the last three years of her life. I had to watch it get worse. And Michael, it’s getting worse.”

Michael swallowed, but his throat was parched. Around him, he heard two girls laughing and an order for cheese pizza being called. 

“What makes you think it won’t try to take over the world again?” asked Michael. “Between you and Rich, we’re two for two in the evil supervillain department.”

“My brain doctor has a squip,” said Jeremy. Michael’s jaw dropped. “And Rich’s therapist has a squip. Eminem had a squip. Most of the time, they’re fine.” 

“Eminem died mysteriously!”

Jeremy’s hands turned into fists on top of the table. “Do you think I have any other choices? You’re trying to talk me out of it, but do you have any idea how long it took to talk myself  _ into _ it?” Jeremy shoved a hand into his hair. “It’s not about doing what’s right. It’s about doing what I can to  _ survive.  _ I––I did this to myself, Mike, and I’m just––I’m just so screwed.”

Jeremy shoved his face into his hands. Michael scooted closer, throwing an arm around him. A wet spot grew in the fabric of his t-shirt as Jeremy pressed his face into Michael’s shoulder, sobbing. 

“Shh, buddy, it’ll be okay.” said Michael. He didn’t expect it to be. Jeremy let out a few more sobs before pulling away. His nose was puffy and his glasses fogged up. 

“I’m going tomorrow,” said Jeremy. “I should tell Brooke. Where is she, anyway?”

\---

Michael dropped the boys off at their places, parked in his driveway, walked up the stairs to his front door, reached into his pockets and realized he’d forgotten his house key. He rang the doorbell in two short bursts. There was the heavy thud of footsteps, and the door creaked open. 

“Michael! How was the party?” Angie asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“Oh, you know,” said Michael, stepping inside. “It was––” he turned to face his sister. “Jeremy’s getting another squip because he’s suffering severe memory loss.”

Angie’s eyebrows shot up. “What? A squid?”

Michael sat on the tile floor, untying his shoelaces. 

“Forget it,” he said. “Jeremy did something really stupid, and he’s doing it again. But if he doesn’t do it again, then his life is going to be really hard.”

For a moment,  Michael sat on the front doormat, Angie looming over him. The kitchen clock let out elevent chimes. 

“Let’s do something fun tomorrow,” said Angie, ruffling Michael’s hair. “Just the two of us. Sound good?”

Michael placed his shoes in a neat line next to Angie’s boots. He got up, his socked feet slipping against the tile. 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Michael stripped out of his hoodie, pressing it to his nose. It smelled like floor wax, sweat, and Jeremy’s aftershave. He tossed it into his hamper.

\---

Angie and Michael drove down to the beach, but even saltwater and peanut brittle ice cream couldn’t keep the distant look out of Michael’s eyes. They got back to their house around ten o’clock, Angie carrying a bag of kitsch prizes Michael had won at the boardwalk arcade and a few pieces of sea-glass for their mom’s collection. 

Michael collapsed into bed, still sticky with sweat, his eyes fixed on the glow-stars pressed onto his ceiling. 

He woke to the sound of his phone buzzing, and his heart jumped to his throat. 

“Jeremy?” he asked into the receiver, bolting upright. 

“It’s Mr. Heere. You should come over.”

Part of Michael didn’t want to leave his house. The other part wanted to break every single traffic law to get to Jeremy’s. Michael slipped into a pair of Pac-Man pajama bottoms, stumbling down the stairs. Light flashed from the muted TV, and Angie was curled up in the leather armchair. 

She drove them. When they entered into the Heere’s townhouse, Mr. Heere handed Angie a mug of coffee and motioned Jeremy upstairs. 

Michael paused outside of Jeremy’s bedroom door, staring at the Doctor-Who birthday card that Michael had given him in middle school taped to the door. He knocked.

There was a rustling noise from behind the closed door, and Michael heard a faint, “come in.” Michael threw open the door and immediately gagged at the stench. 

The air was thick with heat and the smell of cooked onions. Jeremy was propped against his headboard, wearing a tank top darkened with sweat. His hair stuck up in a greasy halo around his face.On his bedside table sat a neon green six-pack of mountain dew on his bedside table, empty except for two. 

“Jeremy?” he asked. 

The bags under Jeremy’s eyes deepened. 

“Hey,” Jeremy said, and he sounded like he hadn’t spoken for a week. “It’s my player one.”

Michael threw his arms around Jeremy, pressing his face into the mess that was Jeremy’s hair and inhaling. 

\---

EPILOGUE

Michael Mell enjoyed long drives with loud music. He liked empty record stores and late-night movie marathons with his best friend. And as much as he loved his best friend, he did not like parties. 

Michael’s thumb rubbed absentmindedly at the sharpie on his red solo cup, stretching out along the porch. It was forty degrees out, his breath coming out in light puffs against the dark February sky, allowing him the privacy of the cold. But Michael always ran a hot anyways. He’d ditched his usual hoodie for a striped long sleeved shirt and he hadn’t even broken into goosebumps.

Michael heard the sliding of the glass door opening behind him and he took a long swig of his drink, tasting hawaiian punch and cheap vodka. 

“Hey headphones, your sweetheart’s looking for you.” 

Michael twisted backwards. Rich’s stout frame filled the frame. He wore a t-shirt with the arms cut out almost all the way down to his waist, the slogan “Bi to the Bone” stretched across his chest. From inside, Michael could hear the pounding of a bass. He caught a whiff of pot, he was sure someone was smoking it out a bedroom window. 

“Really?” asked Michael, getting to his feet. “I’ll go find him.” He stepped into the kitchen, Rich shutting the door behind him. 

“He wouldn’t stop whining about you,” said Rich. “I, uhm, think he was worried. Man, you two have this weird thing going on, don’t you?”

Michael shrugged. “Not really. We’re best friends. It can’t be simpler than that, I guess.”

Michael’s eyes swept the room, looking for Jeremy. He wasn’t pouring himself a vodka cranberry in the kitchen, or sprawled across a couch in the family room, or shooting pool in the basement. Michael stood at the foot of the spiral staircase. The upstairs floor was the only place left to venture, and he really didn’t want to think about whether or not he’d find Jeremy up there. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Brooke or Christine that night, either, but he’d seen Chloe snapping selfies with Rich’s hamster in the family room. 

Michael knew he shouldn’t go upstairs. It’d be weird, seeing where Rich slept. And it’d be weirder to see Jeremy making out with––Michael’s gut clenched––well, anyone. 

There was the sound of clattering and the creaking of wood. Brooke pranced down the stairs, swaying to the side. 

“Michael!” she said. Her denim skirt was crooked and one strap of her floral top was falling off her shoulder, but her smile was bright. “Jeremy’s upstairs looking for you.” She clattered to the bottom of the stairs before rounding the corner, continuing off. 

The stairs creaked beneath Michael’s feet, and he clutched the bannister. He got to the top, looking down the L-shaped hall, and his heart leapt to his chest.

Jeremy was sitting with his back against the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest, underneath a framed picture of a boy in yellow rain boots.

Michael slid to the floor beside him, crossing his legs. 

“I heard through the grapevine you were looking for me,” said Michael. He figured he would’ve known, anyways, just had the sense that Jeremy wanted him. He usually did.

Jeremy unfolded his arms, and revealing the Led Zepplin tee that Michael had helped pick out.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Jeremy. “My phone died. And I checked all the usual places, but you weren’t there. I got nervous. I thought you...uhm, maybe met someone, and wandered up here.”

Michael let out a laugh. “What is it with us and assuming the second floor of the house equals sex? Can’t we just come up here and like, admire the Gorganski’s collection of antique photos or something?”

The door across the hall opened, and two girls Michael had never seen in his life stumbled out. One had dark hickies sucked across her neck and the other had a lipstick stain on the corner of her mouth. The strided down the hall, laughing.

“Nevermind,” said Michael. They sat in silence, Michael flexing his fingers in and out of Rich’s shag carpeting.

“Hey,” said Jeremy, “didn’t we kiss when we were ten years old? On a dare from Louis?”

Michael blinked. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I forgot about that.” They were ten years old, and Angie’s friend Louis had dared them to kiss at a barbeque. Michael and Jeremy ducked behind an ash tree on someone’s front lawn for a peck on the lips. It was clean and simple, before they had really gotten themselves into this mess. He can’t remember why they’d done it.

“I guess I did have a thing for you before the squipcident,” said Jeremy, as casually as if he admitted to preferring red slurpees over blue. Michael glanced over at him. The light fixture had all bulbs burned out besides one, and it bathed Jeremy in a warm, dim light.

Michael wanted to push, to ask what this meant to Jeremy, for  _ them _ .

“Want to see how long it takes me to hack the soundsystem?” Michael asked instead.

“Thank god,” said Jeremy, his teeth chattering. “If I hear one more Kanye song I’m going to set this house on fire. Oh, crap. Too soon?”

Michael laughed, his head thrown back against the wall. Michael had what he’d been looking for, he realized. His best friend. Back to normal. But best of all, they had time to figure out a new normal.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! please comment or leave kudos or talk to me about headcanons on [tumblr](http://eternalredmountaindew.tumblr.com).


End file.
